This was practically our last shot in the battle. The German attack had evidently come to a complete standstill. They even lost their command of the air on the afternoon of the 17th, when a fleet of British aeroplanes had come along and driven them to cover. On our part we were preparing to become the aggressors. The 3rd Battalion was being brought forward to relieve the 2nd, and to take command of both came our good old Lieutenant Colonel, jaunty and humorous as always in a fight and without a worry except as to whether he and I had enough smokes to last. All care vanished when my orderly, Little Mac, sneaked up from where I had left him in the rear, bringing two cartons of cigarettes.
Today we received definite word of what had happened meanwhile in the support Battalions. During the bombardment, young Wadsworth was killed at Headquarters, and I lost other good friends in Company B—Sergeant Harry Kiernan, as good a man as he looked, and that is a great compliment; Arthur Viens, one of my own parish lads, and Joseph Newman, and Archie Cahill, mortally wounded. Louis Cignoni of Company C and Sam Forman of the Machine Gun Company were also killed. Sergeant Charles Lanzner of Company A was killed while doing brave work as a volunteer carrying a message to Company B under the fearful cannonading. The Polish Battalion also had met with a savage reception that night.
The French gave news that the enemy was held in every part of the long front, with the exception of a portion of the line around Chateau Thierry and running up the northeast side of the salient. The old Rainbow had not a single dent in it. I got our fellows stirred up by telling them that they had gone and spoiled one of the loveliest plans that had ever been prepared by a General Staff. “What do you mean, spoil their plans? All we spoiled were Germans!” “That’s just the trouble. The men who planned this battle did not really expect you to stick, and they were all ready to give the Germans a terrible beating after they had walked through you and gotten out into the open space. The trouble was that you fellows did not know enough to run away, and the Generals finally had to say, ‘We shall have to scrap our beautiful plans and fight this battle out where those fool soldiers insist on having it fought.’”
Around midnight we were told that we would be relieved by morning. Why? No one knew. Where were we going? No one knew. The French were to take our place. They were slow in coming. We wanted to be away before sunrise or the enemy would have a fine chance to shell our men as they made their way over the plains. I waited the night there in Kelly’s shack, impatient for the relief to come ere dawn. Finally the Poilus, their blue uniform almost invisible by dark, began to appear. I started off with Mr. Jewett down the road to St. Hilaire. We picked up Bill Neacy with a Headquarters detachment, and found a back road down to Jonchery. I watched for the dawn and German planes, filled with anxiety for our withdrawing columns. But dawn came and no shelling, and shortly afterwards I fell into the kindly hands of Major Donovan, and soon good old John Kayes and Arthur Connelly had a beefsteak on the fire for us. The 2nd Battalion came drifting in in small parties, and reported everybody safe. Then I saw Pat Kinney and knew that the Colonel was somewhere about. He had come out to look after his men. I certainly was glad to see him, and I got the reception of a long lost brother. He bundled me into his car, and in a short time had me wrapped in his blankets and taking a long deferred sleep in his cot at Bois de la Lyre.
VADENAY
July 21st, 1918
We packed up our belongings in the Bois de la Lyre on July 20th and went to this town of Vadenay. Colonel McCoy had a ceremony that afternoon which shows one reason why we are so devoted to him. I had written up the recommendations for citations furnished by Company Commanders during the recent battle; and the Colonel, fearing they might not go through, embodied them in a regimental citation and read them to the assembled soldiers. It was fine and stimulating; the 2nd Battalion is as proud as if it had won the war and the others are emulous to equal its fame.
I went back to my billet and found a visitor who announced himself as Father James M. Hanley of the Diocese of Cleveland. I remembered the name. I received a letter some two months ago, a fresh breezy letter, full of the unrestrained impatience of a young priest who had come over to take part in the war and had landed in an engineer outfit not far from a base port. He appealed to me as an old-timer to tell him how to beat this mean game. I answered and told him what to say to Bishop Brent, and Bishop Brent, nothing loth, had sent him to me for the 42nd Division. The more I talked with the new Chaplain the more 69th he looked to me; so I said to him: “I am going to keep you with me. Father McDonald is in ill-health and has orders for a new assignment. We shall have a big battle in a week or two and we shall need two men because there is a good chance of one of us being bumped off. Major Anderson’s battalion will very probably be in reserve so you report to Major McKenna and tag along with him. I shall tie up with Major Donovan.”
The next day was Sunday. It was the first day the whole regiment was in one place since we left Camp Mills. There was a beautiful church in the town and I announced four masses with general absolution and communion without fasting. In all my life I never saw so many men at communion in one day. The altar rail was too narrow to accommodate them, so we lined them up on their knees the length of the aisle, and two priests were kept busy passing up and down giving communion. The non-Catholics we took in groups near their companies and had brief exhortation and silent prayer.
I never use the motive of fear in talking to soldiers about religion because it does not suit with their condition, and anyway I can get more substantial results without it. But the government and the army believes in preparedness for death, as is shown by their ambulances and hospitals and pensions. I believe in spiritual preparedness; so too, do the men. I am happy to think that my own charges are well prepared. May the grace of God be about them, for I feel we are in for a big fight.